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Winter Solstice |
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December 19
The river is running with
ice flows this morning. Its 3 degrees,
-20 with the wind chill. From my sunny
alcove on the second floor I can see across the pond, through the trees, to the
river Looking Glass. Yes, that really
is its name, the Looking Glass River. I
feel someone who knew the river well must have named it; it is a wonderful
example of name fitting form. Gazing at it draws you into mystic realms of
thought. Now, with the leaves off the trees, I can see the river and feel its
pull even from my bedroom window.
There is something about the
quality of this particular view, the crook of the pond-edge and the dip in the
hill where the path goes over the rise between that shore and the rivers run,
that feels like the portal to another reality. It is one of those places where
you sense if you looked at just the right angle you could peek through the veil
of everyday life and see its sweeter essence. It is there, at the rise between
the Looking Glass River and the Pond Ananda, that one could suddenly find ones
steps led not though these woods but into some timeless sparkling existence.
Perhaps I will die and take wing right there.
This morning, the ice flows down the river in cloud
formations, their drifting breezes though my mind like ships sailing on the
horizon. They recall lazy let-it-be
afternoons, laying on the grass and looking up at nature going about her
incredible processes with perfect grace. Occasionally a crystal in one of the
ice ships is hit by the sun at just the right angle and will glint in my eye,
here a full quarter mile away; or the wings of the mallards at play in the
river, will be illumined catching my sprit with them as they rise. I hope the thought of them lifts yours as
well.
Enjoy, Susan
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